An Exercise in Spontaneity
by jaygoose
Summary: Can I get some fries with that shake? [David HodgesSara Sidle]


**_Disclaimer: _**These characters are not mine. But I'd love to have David though. I'd feed him and pet him and love him…

**_Warnings: _** Dancing!David. Flirty!Sara. Supply closet based raunchiness. Heh.

**_A/N:_** This is for prompt #4 at csi lab rats on LJ . I'm taking the _Spring Fever_ angle for this one. Oh this bunny just came out of nowhere. I'm usually a hardcore Greg/Hodges shipper but Hodges/Sara won't leave me alone! (someone shoot me.) So, this is my attempt to exercise the little demon plot bunny from hell. (sigh) But really, who can say no to sex in the supply closet? Who I ask! (gawd I suck at writing Sara.) Thanks to hawkeyecat for the impromptu beta.

**_  
An Exercise in Spontaneity_**

He's wiggling when she finds him. Wiggling rhythmically in his seat and humming along to some song on the radio. It's something happy and techno-ish. Some lady and some guy singing something about a dare. The exact opposite of what she'd expect coming out of David Hodges' radio. She almost has to double check to make sure she has the right lab. She takes a couple small steps inside--yep, definitely the trace lab. Directly across from DNA? Check. Snarky, dark haired trace tech? Check.

(But the dancing and the humming and the general cheerful vibe are throwing her off.)

She clears her throat. The wiggling continues and she has to admit that Hodges can be… almost…cute… when he thinks no one is looking. She rolls her eyes and strolls on over, lightly tapping two fingers on the dancing man's shoulder. Said trace tech jumps and spins around.

"Geez! Are you trying to give me a coronary!"

Sara smirks. Much better… "Can I get some fries with that shake?"

There's a brief moment of utter confusion on David Hodges' face before it's washed away by an unamused frown.

"Someone's feeling rather perky tonight," she adds her grin positively fiendish.

Hodges doesn't even dignify her with a response. He simply reaches over to his small radio and turns down the volume.

"David Hodges," she says, eyeing him in mock appreciation. "I didn't know you could dance."

The smile from earlier is gone now, replaced with his customary bored expression. Which is just a shame, Sara thinks idly. Hodges is decent looking when he isn't scowling and sniping at everyone. Not that she's been on the receiving end of either much lately, which is making her even more curious about that little show he had been putting on just a minute earlier.

"There are a lot of things you CSIs don't know. I know… It's shocking. I'll give you a moment to recover." He turns back around to the table with that odd flourish that is just so Hodges.

Sara can't help smiling. (He's an amusing little man.)

"What do you want? I'm sure you just didn't decide to stop by for a friendly chat."

"Of course not, I was drawn by the hypnotic wiggle of your bottom." She winks at him. She's flirting with him now. Almost as badly as Greg she muses. But that's the fun of it she decides, it's so horrid it can't possibly be taken seriously.

Hodges raises a brow before snorting. "Did you just say _bottom_? What are we four now?"

Well, that's a strange sort of disappointing. Hodges is usually always good for a little friendly flirting. The CSI just watches as the man goes to pull out a folder from the pile on his desk.

"I don't recall paging you…" he begins, "But I suppose you're here for this." He sighs dramatically handing her the file. "The fibers from your vic are polyester/cotton blend. A match to that bloody shirt you found."

He's fidgeting. It's barely noticeable unless you're used to being around the man. (Or if you just happen to be a CSI in one of the country's best crime labs, it's hard for her to tell the difference between the two anymore.) His arms are crossed over his chest and he's shifting from foot to foot—she's sure he doesn't even realize he's doing it—or that he's looking everywhere but at her.

"Those fibers were embedded in the skin of the victim's wrists," Sara says aloud following it with a sigh. Back to business, if only for a little while. "Sadly, run of the mill, though it does explain the bruises and the dislocated shoulder."

"Make shift bondage gear?" Hodges adds already turning back to his analysis. "Another case of _When Porn Goes Wrong._"

Sara's unable to stop the snort of laughter. "_Another_ case, you say? Why Hodges, have you been holding out on me?"

Wide blue eyes turn on her abruptly before they narrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A gap toothed grin is his response for that inspired save.

"Look," he groans. "Isn't it enough that I put up with trace from you CSIs raunchy sex crimes every night? Yet you still feel the need to mock my sex life or lack there of."

Okay, she hadn't been expecting that.

"Good lord, you'd think these people saved up all there hormones for April or something." He continues muttering once again returning to his beloved microscope.

(Hodges & Microscope 4eva!)

Sara barely contains her laughter at the rogue thought.

But now that she's really paying attention, man, does Hodges look... tense—even more so than usual. Not that she can blame him. Last week there had been that case of the dead mistress and her mister that had lead to all sorts of embarrassment when the tapes came out. And now some drugged up teenagers decided to get kinky with a t-shirt and one of them ends up suffocating with his face stuck in a mattress. And this is just her and Nick's stuff. Greg and Griss had a thing with a stripper and that business man from Virginia… _and_ his wife… that had some how led them to a ranch in…She almost shivers in remembrance. (That poor cow.)

The amount of sex related cases coming into the lab is getting to be a bit ridiculous.

Poor guy… If Hodges is anything like he is in the lab outside of the lab, Sara can almost guarantee that the last time he's gotten laid hasn't been since… Wait a minute… When was the last time she's gotten laid?

Maybe Hodges has a point. Maybe there is something in the air.

Sara watches the trace tech a while longer before she leaves. There is something… different about the man suddenly. There's this weird sort of energy around him. Not that she believes in that sort of thing. He's still fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot and pointedly ignoring her.

She hums to her self as she walks out—the same tune Hodges was dancing to earlier.

(Oh there's definitely something going on in Vegas. It has to be. It's the only excuse for the thoughts running through her head.)

_**

oo0oo

**_  
Sara figures it will only be a matter of time. Over the course of the rest of the week, she's gone about the super secret covert operation of stealing all of Hodges' latex gloves. She has to admit that it's not a completely fool proof plan, but it's the best she can come up with under such short notice.

Sara knows the trace tech is of the picky sort. She knows for a fact that he hates (with a fiery passion rivaling that of a thousand suns) using the gloves with the powdered lining--the ones just about everyone else in the lab uses. And if he has to, he'll go searching for new ones before he'll use anyone else's extras.

Luckily, her plan actually seems to do the trick as she is now tracking a tragically undersexed David Hodges down one of the quieter hallways of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. He's walking briskly to one of the supply closets and she discreetly follows him. Waiting a few moments to make sure the coast was clear before stealthy slipping in after him. There she finds him hunched over with a few boxes of gloves clutched in his arms muttering to himself about filthy thieves and other such theft related nonsense.

(Dear god this man needs to get laid.)

She clears her throat and Hodges nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Sidle!" He turns to her in the midst of shock before rolling his eyes and releasing a much put upon sigh. "What is with you lately!"

"Someone's tense," Sara chides, grinning all the while.

"No. _Someone's_ just not used to being stalked by deranged lady CSI," he responds flippantly. "You're not really good at this covert thing are you?"

(Okay so maybe her stalking technique needs a little work.) "But you did jump. I saw you!" Her smile is smug.

"I just figured you'd be just as loud stomping through that door as you were in the hall. Color me surprised. So what do you win? An all expenses paid trip to Lenny's Diner after shift? Tell Greg that before you two skip off in the sunset to meet me in the parking lot by Judy's old Suburban. I owe him an ass kicking for the five minutes you just shaved off my life."

Technically, she and Greg would be skipping off into the sunrise but now is not the time for technicalities Sara supposes. Besides, she figures that if it even was the case, she and Greg have missed that boat entirely. The first rays of early morning are just beginning to peak through the windows, casting a nice glow on their little supply closet of iniquity. (Not that Hodges has any clue that this is neither their supply closet nor that it has anything iniquitous going on about it at the moment. But he's going to find out soon enough.)

"Aww, Hodges I just wanted to talk to you."

David's eyebrows furrow. "Look Sidle, you and Stokes' case isn't the only one I'm working on okay. I…" He stops mid sentence and looks at her wearily before suddenly whipping his head around. When it seems he's satisfied with whatever it is he's been doing he returns to her with a cold glare. "Is this really some kinda joke? Cause if it is…"

"David."

He pauses at the sound of his name and continues to watch her suspiciously. Not taking his eyes off her the whole time it takes for her to walk the few steps over to him. Sara doesn't say anything else. She simply reaches forward taking each of the boxes out of the man's hands and placing them back on the shelf. Blue-grey eyes follow her movements curiously right up until she grabs hold of his shirt and pulls him to her. The lips pressed tightly against hers don't move at first. It seems that Hodges still thinks that this was some sort of the joke. He's probably thinking that Greg will come barging through the closet door any moment with a video camera, laughing and pointing or something.

The very idea is so… High School. Does he really think she'd stoop so low? Does he really think so lowly of himself? She has to prove him wrong. Everyone deserves supply closet sex at least once in their life. It is one of the perks of the job. (Or at least that's what Greg told her that one time.)

She parts her lips in a breathy sigh; her tongue peeks out to skim against Hodges' bottom lip. It's enough of a surprise for the man to get him to tear his eyes away from the door. He's still hesitant but eventually he relents, finally joining her in the process of this kissing thing. A thing that as it turned out he's not half bad at.

Why isn't she surprised? (Seriously.) She thinks vaguely that she probably should be.

Her fingers work their way to the back of his head, threading through the short hair there. One of them moans, she isn't sure who, though she secretly hopes its Hodges…er… David. There that's not so hard. It is actually his name. She called him it earlier. You can't really screw someone and call them by their last name can you? Not that Sara is all that versed in the etiquette involved in this particular situation. But it just doesn't seem all that… sexy. And sexy is what she's going for, right?

During the course of this train of thought, Hodges has apparently been pondering things as well. He abruptly pulls away from her, blue eyes flickering once again between her and the door. He licks his lips once and she can't help smiling at that. (He has nice lips.) His hands slip from around her hips—when exactly they'd gotten there in the first place she's lost track—before walking away from her completely.

(That's it?)

She frowns, a bit confused. "Hod… (dammit!) David?"

She doesn't get a verbal response as so much as the sound of clanking metal and something sliding against the floor. David has grabbed a few of the storage closet's abandoned chairs and uses them to block the door. She barely has the chance to comment before the man purposefully strides over to her and pulls her into another kiss.

(Well then…)

It quickly becomes one of those mad dashes toward completion, like one of those cliché lust scenes from the movies. (She's always secretly liked those.) Sara barely registers the pain in her back when it connects a bit too harshly with the wall. Hodges is a little rough and a bit clumsy.

She expected that.

She also expected that once he finally got over that _"this is a joke"_ conspiracy theory of his that he'd be more than eager to participate in this little bout of tension release. She'd expected hard and fast. But what she hadn't expected was how good his hands feel as they skim against her skin. Sure she hopes to get just as much enjoyment out of this encounter as the man but this it's a bit of a surprise. She hadn't expected that tech geek David Hodges would know just where on her neck to kiss her to get her toes to curl. Or more importantly, she hadn't expected that the man seems to know his around a bra clasp.

She giggles at the thought.

Though, thinking back on it, it probably wasn't the best time for giggling.

Everything stops cold—David's hand under her top, her hands at his zipper. She feels his mouth pull away from her neck and now he's staring at her, one eyebrow cocked and Sara's fighting a grin.

"Ticklish," she manages her expression sobered.

"Hmm…" He smirks at her, once again all watchful blue eyes.

And he's kissing her again and her whole body tingles when he grinds against her, his bare stomach pressing against hers and his skin is so hot. And she's blushing and her mind is reeling because honestly this is David Hodges. The annoying trace tech with that bad attitude… The guy with the silly stories about run away hamsters… The not so secret camera whore… The poor unfortunate that's even been locked in a lab closet by Greg Sanders—the crime lab's former practical joke magnet—he was gone for hours before anyone missed him…

And this train of thought is derailed when she feels David's fingers at the hem of her panties and she hears his belt buckle—pants and all—hit the floor. It's all in bits and pieces from then on, which is odd because it's not as if she was drunk at the time or anything. She remembers it being almost pleasant despite the uncomfortable position. (She's never been fond of doing it standing up.) They had to find the right angle. The fact that they were pretty much the same height was helpful. But it was still hell on the rhythm. But they finally find a happy medium. She's still stunned by the things he'd manages to say in her ear. Things that make her blush punctuated by heavy pants that make heat curl in her belly.

Who'd believe that David Hodges is a dirty talker during the act? She can't help feeling that she should be surprised. (But he's always seemed to be a man that likes hearing the sound of his own voice.)

When it's over she can barely look him in the eye. He helps her get dressed. Helps her find her shoes and even straightens her collar. It's alarmingly hassle-free and almost relaxed. And Sara can't help but wonder if Hodges' has done this sort of thing before. If he's used to this sort of thing—the depravity of it all—hidden supply closet based debauchery. (giggle)

And when he kisses her on the cheek she's taken back. She even almost flinches when he leans to whisper in her ear.

"Same time next week?"

Sara can tell he's smirking though she can't see and she smirks back. (Bastard's definitely done this before.)

"Sure."

She is not blushing.

(Really.)

But if she and David engage in their closet based activities in her bed instead next time she won't be particularly disappointed.


End file.
